


the first sight of the sun

by cinderfell



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Campaign, Recovery, Unwavering Emotional Support Despite Life's Ups And Downs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 07:23:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12930354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderfell/pseuds/cinderfell
Summary: Over the next year, he comes to realize that "okay" exists on a sliding scale.





	the first sight of the sun

**Author's Note:**

> HELL YEAH YOUR GIRL SAT DOWN AND WROTE 4000 WORDS IN A SINGLE SITTING AND DESTROYED HER WRITER'S BLOCK WITH HER FISTS, HAVE SOME ANGSTY SHIT WITH HAPPY ENDINGS
> 
> title lifted from "sight of the sun" by fun.

Spring passes. 

They mourn. All of them do. He puts aside the plans churning in his head-- clocks, art, things he hasn't thought about in years-- to be at her side whenever she needs him, and as strong as she is, she needs him a lot. There's no shame in that. They all need someone after it all. How couldn't they? He's never been good with emotions and the delicate game of support, but for her he tries, and for her he finds ways to do it well. He knows her like the back of his own hand-- _gods_ , he knows her better than he knows himself-- and he's certainly not perfect, but he knows what she needs and he does his best to give it to her. 

That doesn't mean she makes it easy, of course. But he doesn't blame her. How could he possibly blame her? 

"Are you alright, dear?" Percy asks her one night, three weeks after Vax's death. She sits at the desk in the corner of their bedroom, the surface covered in piles of open books and half-finished diplomatic papers. Whitestone's been a key place of interest, especially of late, and she's taken it all upon herself to handle it. 

"I'm fine," she says, not looking up from her papers. 

"Ah." He shifts slightly, back and forth from foot to foot, wringing his hands in front of him. "Do you want any help?" 

"I'm perfectly capable of handling my own job, Percival," she snaps, and it makes him wince. In the candlelight it's hard to miss the dark circles beginning to show under her eyes. She scribbles for a few more seconds before she suddenly stills. Then she sighs, setting her quill down and turning to look at him and-- she's exhausted. He knew, of course, but when she looks at him straight on like this it's impossible not to see just how tired she is. She hasn't been sleeping well when she finally crawls into bed, he knows this. And it's showing. "I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean to be short with you." 

"It's okay." He reaches forward and brushes a lock of dark hair off her shoulder, fingers skimming across the olive plane of skin at her neck. She shivers. "You just… haven't been sleeping well. And you've been working quite a bit." 

"Somebody has to do it." She gestures at the mess on the desk. "May as well be me." 

"It's okay to ask for help, Vex," he says. 

She snorts. "I hope you understand how funny that is, coming from you." 

That's… fair. 

"Point," he relents. "But I mean it." 

"I--" Vex starts to speak before she cuts herself off. She takes a deep breath. "It helps. It keeps me busy." 

"I understand." Of course he understands. He knows what it's like to keep himself so busy he can't even think about what's bothering him until it runs him into the ground. "Just… don't push it, dear. It's a quick path to crashing and burning if you don't give yourself breaks. I should know." 

Her shoulders slump at that. "I don't want to think about that." 

"I think you have to," he tells her honestly. 

She sighs again. "That's so much harder than just working it away." 

"I know. I'm sorry." 

"That's alright, Percy. It's not your fault. You're right, of course." With one of her hands, she reaches up and takes the one he has sitting at the junction of her neck and shoulder in her own, pulling it up to her mouth. She brushes her lips against his knuckles, and despite himself he feels something bright and warm like sunshine stir in his chest. "Thank you, darling." 

* * *

Summer sweeps through Whitestone in a bleary haze of heat. 

The Sun Tree is healthier than ever, branches thick with leaves of vibrant green and dots of birds' nests. Whitestone itself is thriving in the post-Vecna world, a must-see for Exandria. The tourists help, as do the growing trade routes. Things are okay, he thinks. 

(Sometimes they aren't, though. 

Sometimes he wakes to Vex screaming herself awake in the middle of the night, clawing at the sheets, his body, almost as if trying to grasp onto something just out of her reach, her eyes wide and desperate. More often than not when he manages to pull her out of it, she falls apart in his arms, sobbing incoherently and curling into his body as closely as she possibly can get, desperate for the reassurance that she's not alone.) 

He's okay. 

(He wakes shaking more nights than he'd like to admit. Sometimes Vex notices. Sometimes she doesn't. He's not sure which he prefers. On one hand, the feeling of her wrapping herself around him protectively does more for chasing away night terrors than anything a cleric or herbalist could give him. On the other? He doesn't like the way she worries, the way she frets about him in the morning. 

He's a hypocrite. He knows.) 

Vex learns to pace herself in her work, although not without some intervention from Cassandra and her concerned patrols. She still buries much of herself in it, but she takes time to herself too. 

(Cassandra has her own issues, Percy's starting to notice. She's more withdrawn, somehow. Prone to outbursts of anger that go as quickly as they come. Paranoia. It reminds him of himself. He hates it.) 

He's in the midst of absently pondering this turn of events, trying to think of ways to approach it, with a book open at the corner desk in Vex's library. Something about ghost stories of the area. He knows them all already, finding his eyes glazing over as he skims the paragraphs, mind wandering to thoughts of his younger sister. He can help, somehow, he's sure of it, but he just doesn't quite know how. Hells, he can't even properly help himself-- 

The unmistakable sound of something shattering rings through the house, jolting Percy from his book. 

The months since the fall of Vecna have been quiet. Nothing more dangerous than a few scuffles with Clasp members trying to establish a foothold in Whitestone (something that was quickly dealt with by the Pale Guard) and wildlife coming too close to the city (which was usually dealt with by Vex or her Grey Hunt patrols). Beyond that? Peace. A quiet bliss than allowed time for reflection. 

But that sound… 

Percy feels bile rise in his throat as his muscles tense, his mind whirling and pulling up memories of assassins, of dragons masquerading as allies, of-- of his family ripped apart in a single night in their very own home, of a bloodline soaked into the stones of a castle that had stood as their fortress for generations. 

He gets to his feet. 

He no longer carries a gun on him at all times. Vex calls it improvement. He's less paranoid now, after all this time in comfort, learning how to unwind in her loving company. (Maybe one day he'll leave them behind entirely. Pick up a crossbow or something instead. He never quite got the hang of bows-- he'll leave that to his wife. They're not quite as handy and easy to conceal, however. Perhaps he'll take a page from Cassandra or his late brother-in-law's books and pick up blades. It'd be easier to conceal than a crossbow or his rapier.) Percy thinks enough bad thoughts to keep himself from fully losing his paranoia, though, so he unlocks the middle drawer of his desk and slides the pepperbox out of the hidden compartment. 

He doesn't need it. Surely, he doesn't need it, right? 

He thinks of blood spilling across the carpets in the castle. 

He takes it anyways. 

Percy's a quick draw. He doesn't bother holding it in his hand, instead tucking it away, lucky enough to still have his holster on from when he had it on earlier. Would be a shame to shoot himself in the rear on accident. 

Slinking through the house in a way that he thinks would make Vax proud, he makes his way to where he thinks the sound came from. The library is on the first floor, the commotion sounded like it came from the second. Carefully he ascends, the part of his brain still wrestling with paranoia making note of every step that creaks. 

When rounds the corner of the hallway near their bedroom he stops dead in his tracks. 

Reflective shards of glass litter the wooden floor, tiny fractals glittering in candlelight like hundreds of miniscule stars among several larger fragments. The remnants of the frame that once held the mirror still hangs on the wall where it once was, jagged edges remaining, the center broken by the force of whatever impact shattered it-- which he's quick to see once he looks at his wife, her bloodied hand clenched in a fist, cradled gently against her chest as she stares at where the mirror used to be. 

Her dark eyes are wide, glimmering with wetness that threatens to spill over but doesn't quite make it; her bottom lip trembles, her gaze unwavering from the cracked bit of wall at the center of the frame. 

"Vex'ahlia?" Percy says, her name quiet. He stands in place, not wanting to make any sudden moves towards her in case he frightens her, sets her off-- does anything to makes things worse, as he's so prone to accidentally doing. 

It doesn't seem to matter. She jolts likes she's been hit, turning to look at him with wild eyes that glow almost golden in the candlelight, her dark hair loose from it's braid and frazzled all around her, giving her the appearance of a startled creature. 

Her lips move without sound, something that looks almost like it could be his name, but she makes no sound, simply stares at him in shock. 

"I heard a noise," he says uncertainty, edging a few steps closer to her ever so slowly. "Are you--" Dumb question. She's not alright, clearly. "What happened, dear? You look like you've seen a ghost." 

Almost immediately her face seems to pale, the tears in her eyes welling up even more as she lets out a small sniffle, reaching up to touch her face with the hand that isn't bloodied. "I suppose I have." 

Her fingertips run over the sharp angles of her cheekbones, over the plumpness of her lips, the bridge of her nose. Her eyes dart between his face, the frame on the wall, and the shards on the floor. "I was just walking by, and I could've sworn-- I could've sworn, I saw--" 

She goes silent. 

"What do y--" Percy stops himself, suddenly hit with realization. "Oh." 

"So I just… lashed out I suppose." And she laughs then, at herself, but it's forced, coming out as a croak and utterly humorless. "I'm sorry. I made quite the mess." 

And just like that she's normal, smiling at him as she blinks her tears away. Except he knows her. This isn't Vex, not really. This is a mask, one of the ones she still likes to think she can get away with using around him. Vex'ahlia the unflustered, the unbothered, the untouchable. 

"Vex," he starts, and he watches the corner of her too-tight smile twitch as he says it, her name soft in his mouth. He steps forward, carefully moving around the glass until he stands right before her. Settling one hand on her shoulder, he holds the other out for her injured hand. He doesn't take it without asking, simply waits to see if she'll relent. After a moment, her mask falls away again, almost as quickly as it appeared, revealing a look of distress and too-bright eyes. She may try, but she's never been good at keeping her masks on around him. 

"I'm sorry," she says again, and this time it's her, really her, her voice tinged with exhaustion. She gently gives her injured hand to him and he cradles it in his, careful not to touch where she's been hurt. "I just-- I can't look in it when all I see is him, Percy." 

"I know," he says, because he does. There are times even now when he'll catch a reflection of himself and swear he sees Julius staring back. They were by no means identical, but there was no doubting their similarities. But he can't imagine sharing that much and then just… well. "It's okay. Will you let me help you with this?" 

He rubs his thumb over an uninjured part of her hand. 

"With my hand?" Vex asks. "I can heal it probably." 

"You know that's not what I meant," he says gently. "But I will help you bandage it if you want." 

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and worries it, staring down at where he holds onto her bloodied hand. Finally, she says, "Okay." 

"Okay," he agrees, and leans forward to press a kiss to the top of her head. 

(When he wakes the next morning and finds every mirror in the house either put away somewhere or covered up, he doesn't say anything to her. He takes her down to the river that runs deep through the Parchwood later that day, wraps his arm tight around her middle while they sit in comfortable silence at the riverbank. If she doesn't look down at the reflective surface of the river, then he doesn't say anything about that either. 

They'll deal with it. He knows better than to force something with her when she's not ready, though. And this is something that needs time.) 

* * *

The first day of autumn is met with smoke in his lungs, in his eyes, and sulfur on his tongue. 

_You could've saved him,_ Orthax whispers, except Percy knows it's not the demon. A distorted vision of Vax flickers in the distance, partially obscured by the smoke. In the back of his mind, Percy understands this is a night terror. It doesn't stop the guilt that sweeps over him nonetheless. 

_If you'd just given yourself instead, she'd be happy_ , Ripley whispers, and Percy fights the urge to vomit as his dreams conjure her voice, the shadowed form dancing in the corners of his vision where he can't see her clearly. _You say you love her but you couldn't even do one fucking thing right for her._

_What's one more dead brother, though?_ Percy inhales at the voice, and this time he forces himself to turn to look at it. Julius, the front of his chest bloodied from where he'd been run through, watches him with sharp eyes, the same color as Percy's. Behind him, Percy swears he sees forms manifesting in the swirling smoke, some of them small, like children, and suddenly there are flashes of blood, of screams and cries and the white floors running red, and-- 

"Darling?" From the fog, he feels hands on his shoulders, on his chest, soft but calloused at the fingertips, familiar, growing increasingly frantic as they grope at him. He tries to focus on that, on the voice, so different than the rest. Comforting, despite the distress in their voice. Like safety. Like home. Julius, the figures behind him, Orthax, and Ripley, all of them flicker as he focuses on them-- on her-- and then it's all gone at once, and his world is just her, his entire vision consumed by her scared face as his eyelids shoot open, a sharp gasp ripped from his chest. 

"Oh, gods, Percy? Darling?" Vex's hands run up and down his bare chest in patterns that are strangely soothing, calming the ragged breaths escaping his chest. "You're okay. You're safe. I'm here with you. You're home. It's okay, you're okay." 

He lets her do this for a few minutes, fret over him as she pulls him into her arms, leaning back against their headboard as she runs her hands over his skin, through his hair, grounds him back to reality again. She shakes nearly as much as he does, her whole body trembling against his as she tries his best to soothe him, clearly trying to calm herself as well. 

Finally, he manages, "I'm sorry." 

"Don't be," she says, and her voice wobbles. "It's not your fault." 

He could probably argue that, but he's smart enough not to argue with his wife. 

"Was it that bad?" Percy asks. He shifts slightly, pulls himself from her arms to sit back against the headboard as well. She reluctantly allows it, almost as if it's physically painful to let him go even if she's still pressed right up against him. 

"I've never seen you that bad," she admits. "You were-- Percy you scared me." 

Quickly, he says, "I never want to scare you. Ever." 

"I know," she assures him, and he lets out a long, frustrated sigh. 

"I'm supposed to be taking care of _you_ right now," he says, his voice cracking and falling hush at the end. Embarrassed, he glances down at where his hands sit in his lap, only to feels soft hands with calloused fingertips gently touch his chin, sliding up to cradle his jawline and pull his face up so he's looking her in the eyes again. 

"Percy," Vex says, barely a whisper. "Darling, I love you so much, but when you pull back and don't let me help you the way you help me-- darling, it breaks my fucking heart. It breaks my heart knowing you won't let me help you." 

"You're grieving--" he starts, but Vex cuts him off. 

"And so are you. Percy, do you think I'm blind? I know you never actually processed the loss of your family. I know you only just acknowledged that when-- when Vax--" Vex's voice breaks, reaching up to cover her mouth as her eyes begin to glisten. 

"Vex," he says, startled by her sudden break. He reaches up and covers on of the hands that she has cupping his jaw, the other resting against her cheek; the dark wave of hair is silk against his hand, cool compared to the flushed warmth of her skin. "Vex'ahlia." 

She sniffles and takes a moment to compose herself again before she continues, her voice wavering slightly at the beginning before she manages to even it out. "I was just hurting myself by not talking about… Vax. And you're doing the same thing by not talking about your family. Except you've been doing it for years, Percy. Because you won't let yourself feel that-- that pain. That vulnerability." 

He flinches at the word _vulnerability_ despite himself, and something flashes in Vex's eyes like recognition, like she feels the way the word hits him between his ribs. 

"I'm not vulnerable," he says, and even as the words come out he knows it sounds exactly like what it is: a lie. 

"You are," she tells him, voice straining as she leans forward, the tips of their noses brushing just ever so slightly. "That's okay. It's okay to be vulnerable, Percy. It's okay to hurt and be sad and be angry and--" 

"I'm so tired of being angry," he says, and in his head he can finally hear how exhausted he sounds. 

She kisses him then, just a soft, second-long peck on the lips, before she tilts his head so she can rest her forehead against his. "Okay. So you _might've_ overdone the anger part of the grieving process already." 

He can't help but snort at that, despite the painful ring of truth to it. 

"That's okay. We're both still… learning how to do this. To grieve. We'll help each other." She releases his face now, letting her head drop down so it's tucked beneath his chin, buried in his neck. "Let me help you, Percy." 

"I--" he starts. 

"Please." He shivers at her voice, the rawness of it. "I'm not perfect. I'm still… I don't know how to get past my brother. I don't know if I ever truly will. But it helps knowing you're there, watching my back. Waiting to pick me up when I fall and help me keep walking down the way I need to go. Let me do the same for you. Let me pick you up, Percy. Let me help you find your way down the path you need to walk. We can do it together. We're always stronger together, and this is no different." 

Percy shudders. "Vex." 

"I know it's terrifying. I'm still scared to look in the damn mirror, Percy, because all I see is Vax. I still have a ways to go. That's not a bad thing. We both have a long road ahead of us, but we don't have to do it alone. Don't do this alone." The last words fall away in a crack of her voice. 

His shoulders droop, and with it his head. Defeated, he leans back into her touch completely. She wraps her arms around him, pulling him tight against her. "I don't know how to do that." 

"It's okay. We'll figure it out, okay?" 

He nods weakly into her skin, overwhelmed by the feeling of being surrounded by her, of her hair and skin and the smell of the woods that she carries with her always, no matter how much time she spends in the city. "Okay." 

"Okay." 

Pressed against her, he murmurs, "I love you so very much." 

She laughs then, shaky and filled with the unmistakable sound of her being on the verge of tears. "I love you too, darling. Too much for words." 

* * *

Winter, Percy finds, is a misunderstood season. 

It's a season of death. Of withering. Of suffering and famine. But that's not all. It's a season of endings, of course, but it's a season that wipes the slate clean, makes room for new beginnings. 

For the first time in a long time, they are truly, honestly okay. 

They aren't perfect, but they're okay. And that's all he can ask for, at least for now. 

He stands at her side as she takes the cloth off the mirror in their bedroom, a hand on the small of her back as she drops the cloth to the ground with shaking hands and looks herself directly in the eyes for the first time in months. 

And she cries. She cries, but when she's dried her tears she looks at herself again, takes a shuddering breath, and smiles. Shaky, but a smile nonetheless. 

He's never been more proud of her. 

She comes with him to the memorial in the back gardens, newly constructed. The name of every de Rolo lost in the Briarwood coup is engraved in the whitestone. They sit on the bench before it, and he talks to her. He tells her about each and every name on the memorial, about what they used to do, what they used to be like. What he misses most about them. What they could've been. 

And he cries. He didn't realize how cathartic it would be until it's happening, Vex's hand on his as she leans into him, talking softly to him as she helps him through it. 

"I'm proud of you," she tells him, and that only makes the tears come down harder. 

(Cassandra finds her own release, with their help. None of them are perfect, but with guidance and the knowledge that they aren't alone-- well. It's certainly better than being alone. And much better than holding it all in.) 

Shortly after Winterscrest, he finds Vex hanging something in their library, hovering on the broom to reach the place on the wall, because nothing can tame her desire to fly even for mundane activities. 

"What are you up to?" Percy asks, leaning in the doorway. 

With a small smile, she turns to look at him. "Come see for yourself. I think it's secure. No exploding, anyway." 

His eyebrow shoots up in alarm. "Exploding?" He steps closer to her. "Why would it explo--" 

He falls quiet as he actually sees what she's put up. A familiar arrow, weighted on the tip, meant for busting down heavy walls and defenses. 

"You still have this?" he settles for, finally. He thought-- he thought she would've used it by now. 

"The siege arrow you made me? Yeah," she says, landing back on the ground before setting the broom off to the side. "I saved it. It felt… important." 

"It… was," he admits slowly. 

"You used to flirt with me with trick arrows," she says bluntly, and he feels himself flush. 

"I did n--" 

She rolls her eyes. "Yes you did." 

"I-- I did," he relents. 

"You did. And it obviously worked." She holds up the hand with the ring on it, glittering gold. He snorts despite himself. "It was such a little thing, these gifts, but nobody has ever really… given me gifts before. Besides Vax. Not out of the goodness of their heart, and certainly not without the intention of getting something in return. But this one… this one was different." 

"I stayed up a very long time trying to perfect that," he admits. "It wasn't enough to make up for what I did, but I didn't… know what else to do. Words weren't enough of an apology for what I did to you. I still haven't made up for it." 

"Shh." Vex places a finger against his lips, startling him at the sudden contact. His eyebrows shoot up in confusion. "You don't have to apologize for that anymore. What's done is done." She drops her hand, turning back to the arrow. She watches it quietly for a long moment. Finally, she says, "Can I tell you something?" 

He blinks. "Of course." 

"When you gave me that arrow… it was the first time I really thought that maybe you cared about me. As more than a friend, I mean." She shrugs, but he can't help but notice the little flush creeping up the tips of her pointed ears. "But just in general it was proof that you cared about me. As in… you really, really cared about me. Regardless of whether or not you loved me as something other than a friend too, I knew you cared. And I just… I never could bring myself to use it." 

"So you've held onto it," he murmurs, and he reaches out to put his hands on her waist. 

"I have." She takes a step closer to him. "Can I confess something else?" 

"You know you can." 

"Sometimes I pull it out just as a reminder of how much you've come to mean to me. Of how far we've come." She bites her lip then, and all he wants to do is kiss her suddenly. So he does. 

It's soft. Her hands move up his chest before her arms curl around his neck, pulling him down to her so she can lean up on her tiptoes and kiss him deeper. 

It's impossible how much a kiss can feel like home, he thinks as he pulls back, their arms still tangled around each other. 

"So why are you hanging it up?" he asks, leaning his forehead against hers. 

"I was just looking at it and I was thinking about… well, about how much progress we've made this year. And I know I'm not perfect, and I still have a ways to go-- we all do-- but I wouldn't be this far without you." She laughs then before burying her face in his chest. "I don't know. I just thought I'd hang it up. Give it a proper place in our home." 

"Our home," he repeats softly, turning the words over in his mouth like it's the first time he's ever said them. He still can't believe it; that he shares a home with this woman, shares a bed, a life, maybe even-- maybe even children, someday? And that thought is like lightning coursing through his bones, because he never thought that he'd live past twenty, much less long enough to be happy, much less married to someone he loves, much less to potentially have _children_. 

"Our home," she agrees against his chest. 

Despite it all, they're happy. 

They're imperfect and they have their bad days, their share of bad nights, but they're happy. 

_We're going to be okay_ , Percy thinks. 

And he leans down and he kisses his wife again, just because he can. 


End file.
